


It's Just My Imagination

by ifitships_isits



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), M/M, Making Out, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Other, The Power of Imagination, Wings, necking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitships_isits/pseuds/ifitships_isits
Summary: Missing scene from the Abby/ Paintball place.  Starts with the wall pinning.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	It's Just My Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Horrible at editing, and if I don't publish now, I'll forget. Sorry.

He grabs the angel by his finely pressed jacket, thumbs dragging across the worn velvet vest, fingers curling the wide lapels. He pushes, getting his whole body into the action, pulling the angel up to his tiptoes as he crowds him against the wall. Aziraphale is wider than him, but in his anger, he seems to swell. Aziraphale can hear the ruffle of jet black feathers, restlessly sitting invisible but a breath away from bursting free into this plane. He gasps, his knees parted slightly as Crowley’s thigh slides between them. Crowley growls, his nose bumping into Aziriphel’s as his sunglasses drop to midnose, the edges brushing against the tops of Aziriphel’s cheek, his Serpent’s eyes almost glowing over them.   
Aziraphale moans…..  
Crowley stops mid growl, and time freezes.   
Not metaphorically. Like in as the very molecules of air ceased moving. Crowley can feel it. Just a momentary pause in the entire universe, but a pause nonetheless. He blinks, and they are standing in the middle of a vast desert. It looks vaguely like something familiar, but he can’t be sure. And he’s still got his hands on the angel, but due to the change of location,they both start to tumble over, Crowley hooks the angel’s leg and rolls them both smoothly sideways to cushion the fall. Crowley’s wings finally make an appearance, encircling them and digging into the sand. His sunglasses go tumbling off, bouncing off his wings and disappearing into the sand. 

They end up laying sideways across the sand, Crowley’s wings creating a curtain that blocks out the bright sun heating the sand. Crowley feels the soft lips he had gazed longingly at for 6000 years press to the underside of his jaw, a brief press of lips he had imagined doing just that. Then, those same lips pressed further up his jaw, soft and sweet kisses he couldn’t possibly imagine(He did, he hisses inside his head, he imagined a lot), while he kept absolutely still, afraid to break the spell. Aziriphel’s hot breath, his heartbeat speeding up, careesed up his jaw, and he stretched his head upwards, giving the angel more to kiss, and woah and behold, Crowley felt a small nip of pain when the angel so spinning his head around bit the curve of Crowley’s jaw, right where the tattoo, his mark of hell, ended. He could feel aziriphel’s breath, warm and tingly, and his nose brushing against Crowley’s ear. A strange, almost painted wine escaped Crowley, one that he himself did not know he was capable of making.  
Aziraphale stopped, letting out a sigh, resting his forehead on Crowley’s cheek, his hand sneaking up to pet gently at the underside of Crowley’s wings, fingers deftly tracing the underside of the secondaries, causing Crowley to shiver.   
“So, what were you saying, my dear?” Aziraphale coos, in a tone that hints at Aziraphale teasing Crowley, one that usually followed a particular well recommended dessert Crowley had been hesitant to try.   
“Angel.” Crowley breathes out.  
Aziriphel’s fingers tighten slightly, tugging at the black curtain and allowing a bit of sunlight through, and another unexpected sound squeaks out of Crowley.   
“Er, um, Where are we?” aziraphale say rather suddenly, and follows it up with, “And what are we wearing?”   
Crowley, finally coming to his senses, realises it’s not the fine jacket he had memorized every worn button and smoothed thin velvet of that his fingers are curled in, but rather the ethereal robes that had caught the attention flapping at the top of the eastern gate. He looked down at himself (and, by proximity, Aziraphale) and found himself similarly garbed.  
He pulls his wings back, unveiling the desert and the high wall off in the distance.   
“Is that… the Garden? How in heaven did we get here?”   
“Yep. No idea, angel.   
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me.” Aziraphale says indignantly.   
Crowley looks at the angel with an amused smile, filled with warmth.  
“Well, it was your gate. Your tree.” He pauses, finally unwrapping his fingers from around Aziriphel’s robes and patting smooth the front. He sighs and rolls himself onto his back, laying in the sand,and looked into the sky. There’s a hell of a storm building to the west, despite the near endless blue in every other direction and the sun directly above. The light breeze in the air isn’t enough to pick up sand, but he turns his face towards the storm and see lighting lancing across the sky, some it red and jagged, and the swirling clouds have the color of smoke. He can just make out explosions and fire following the edge of stormfront. If he listens closely, he can almost make out screams of pain and misery that hell is so fond of playing in the offices.   
Aziraphale sits up, looking in the direction of the storm.   
“Is that…..?”  
“Yep, angel, that is the metaphysical storm. A preview of the actual storm.”   
Aziraphale shivers.   
“It’s all real, then? This place?”  
Crowley nods, but then scrunches his face, bringing his hand up to make a wobbly motion. “Er, depends on what you mean as real, I guess? It’s a manifestation. Or a model. Can’t really say. It’s a part of my imagination. Never really gave it a real name or anything.” Crowley patted his fingers against his chest, fidgeting with the front of his own black covering, trying to avoid looking directly at the angel or the coming storm. 

“Oh, dear, its beautiful.” The angel gushed. Crowley really needed to find his sunglasses, he thinks to himself, as the apples of his cheeks start to feel hot.   
“It’s nothing, just a stray thing. I didn’t really come up with it by myself now, did I? It’s just a copy of the beginning.” He says it in such an off handed manner, as if to downplay it. But he can’t help the feeling of joy that comes with every compliment the angel has ever given him. 

‘Well, what was all that about?” Crowley deflects, sitting up and gracefully standing. Aziraphale holds out a hand, silently asking for assistance as he starts to stand. Crowley gives him as suspicious look, and takes his hand, pulling the angel to his feet. They both spend a moment brushing sand off themselves, (not nearly as complicated as it would have been in their original outfits) then looked at each other.   
Crowley tips head head, waving again at the angel for an explanation.   
“Oh, you mean the kissing?” Aziraphale said with a hint of innocence.   
“Yessss, angel, the kissssssing.” It’s Aziraphale's turn to shiver.   
“Nothing. It was just you were so….. You.” The angel started pacing, looking at his feet. His wings popping into existence and flapping nervously “I couldn’t not kiss you. I mean, it’s the end, darl, er, dear.” Crowley shook his head, as if to knock cobwebs out. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The angel continued, words spilling out like a confession.   
“What I mean to say is, of course, is if you don’t mind, I thought since it’s the end, why not? Why not fall?” The angel stopped his pacing, looking directly at Crowley and very determinedly walked over to him, taking one of his hands in his. “I can’t possibly imagine fighting against you, and I don’t want to live in an eternity without you.” He looked shyly at Crowley. “I’ve thought about it for quite a while, but I just couldn’t see the point. I mean, nothing was ever really pulling us apart before. If anything, it seemed like her plans just kept putting us in the same places anyway. And..” Crowley puts his free hand over Aziraphale’s mouth. 

“Hush, angel. It’s not going to come to that. We will just find the antichrist and stop all this nonsense before it gets that far. And you’re not going to fall. Well, not with me.”   
Aziraphale's face started to get red, and take on an indignant look.   
Crowley rolls his eyes and pulls his hand away from the angel’s mouth, swooping in and brushing the angel’s lips with his own.   
It’s Aziriphel’s turn to be stunned again.   
Crowley leans back, grinning mischievously, and eyes slitted.   
“What do you mean? Isn’t it a sin? Even if you weren't a demon, isn’t that kind of thing a sin?” Aziraphale questions.   
Crowley throws back his head laughing.   
“Now stop that, or I’ll be horribly insulted. I always assumed that kind of thing is a sin.”   
Crowley calms himself, but still has that bemused twinkle in his eye as he grabs the angel around the waist. He nuzzles into the angel’s shoulder.   
“Do you love me angel?” His nose presses close to the angel’s pulse.   
“Of course, my dear. I was frightened to say it out loud, but you must have known.” Aziriphel says softly.   
“Then it’s not a sin.” Crowley states, with the assertion of a judge.   
“What do you mean it’s not a sin? Doesn’t that silly book says it is?”   
Crowley scoffs. “You know as well as I do, maybe even better than I, it’s been edited and revised more than any other book in history. The sin that you speak of is lust, right?” He pulls his head back and looks the angel in the eyes. Aziriphel nods, looking for all the world like a puzzled puppy losing milk bone. Crowley kisses him again.   
“And I love you. Have for quite a while. Didn’t realize it for a while myself. Didn’t even think it possible.”   
Aziriphel tightens his grip on Crowley.   
“Making love isn’t a sin. It’s even clearly recommended. There’s even a whole part in the middle that talks about how to love and devote yourself to your partner, and how they are a gift given by God(Proverbs 5:18-19 some other Proverbs) Most religions currently gloss over that part and focus on the sin part, but there's some pretty racy stuff in there. And there’s that whole part about David and Jonathan.(Samuel 18 through most of the chapter)” Aziraphale snorts.   
Crowley continues. “Lust is a sin. It’s an easy sin, and can be very destructive. But two people,(or really any number, but that’s a different story) er, beings, whatever, that love each other celebrating that love in a way that they enjoy is never a sin. Isn’t what that very nice man who died was trying to say? Love each other?”   
“Well, that was the essence of the message. I didn’t think that meant, well, you know, that.”   
“Of course not. Nobody really wants that particular secret getting out on either side. Just imagine the trouble that would cause.”   
“Yes, I can quite imagine.” Aziraphale whispers.   
“And of course, there are many ways to express love for each other, you know. You didn’t need to maul my neck, angel.” That sparkle is back in his eyes. Aziraphale smiles, then fakes innocent. Crowley’s arms moved, trailing up aziriphel’s sides and across his chest, grabbing at the front of the angel’s robes, mimicking the position that brought them here.   
“We have to go back, angel.” Crowley’s lips brushing against Aziraphale's as he crowds into his(it’s not too early to be hopeful, right? It might, in fact, be too late) angel’s space again, this time with more softness. Aziraphale’s wings rustled, curling around them in a copy of Crowley’s, trying to shield them from going back.   
“Can’t we have just a few more moments here? It is very lovely.” Aziraphale says, in that soft way he knows will cause the demon to stay for another glass of wine or give him the last torte.(that Crowley has no interest in anyway.   
“We have to find the antichrist, angel. Or all of this is for nothing.” There’s a particularly loud rumble to the east, and as they turn their heads, their vision / shifts/, and they are back in the hallway of the defunct abby turned paintball disaster. A sharply dressed woman is walking towards them, her heels clicking on the tile floor.   
Crowley’s sunglasses are back on his face, and the angel’s crisp tartan collar is slightly askue. They are looking deeply at each other, still in wonder at whatever had just happened. But like Crowley had pointed out, they had a job to do. Something passed between them in that moment, just a spark, but it felt like hope.

“ Excuse me, sorry to break up an intimate moment gentlemen, but…….

**Author's Note:**

> Really want to do porny followup, but new to this fandom, so I'm not sure if it's a good idea.


End file.
